


so less fragile, if we're made from metal

by whirligigged



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/F, Missing Scene, Object Penetration, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whirligigged/pseuds/whirligigged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is only now that their connection, once so strong, is ready to finally snap like a fraying thread, that Gwen allows herself this last thing that had lay long untouched between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so less fragile, if we're made from metal

**Author's Note:**

> Season 3 fic. Written for summerpornathon 2011, week 1. The challenge was "Sex Toys."

Gwen sucks in air harshly when the sword hilt's flared, rounded end slips into her. It's Arthur's second best one. He'd taken his best with him, Morgana had told her with regret as Gwen had shakily wrapped a bedsheet round the blade for Morgana, who couldn't, not with three fingers thrust up Gwen's cunt.

"Do you think about him doing this to you? Arthur?" Morgana says his name with ease, but Gwen gasps. The thing between her and Arthur is so new, and fragile, built on stolen moments and covert glances shared. On the rare nights that she slips a hand between her thighs, even then she does not think of it, as though it will all break apart at the slightest touch.

On her gasp, Morgana leans forward eagerly, gripping Gwen's chin, sliding her fingers into Gwen's mouth, keeping it open. Gwen rolls her hips up and rubs faster at her own clit, her groaning muffled around Morgana's fingers. 

Morgana drives the hilt in harder, with a twist. Perhaps it's angrily—Gwen doesn't want to see the expression on Morgana's face, not now, and closes her eyes against it. Instead she rocks down deep onto the hilt instead as Morgana's pushing up, and finds a thrill in drawing a sharp breath from the both of them. Morgana roughly pulls her fingers from Gwen's mouth, skimming wetness between her breasts, briefly, before fluttering away.

Gwen has thought of Morgana, often, on those rare nights she finds pleasure on her own. What lies between them is no new, untested thing. The first time Gwen had bathed her, they were thirteen. Gwen had been quiet all day after, though her father had been so proud, his Gwen in the castle. She'd nursed a knot low in her stomach all evening and thought she'd been sick. But that night she'd lain tense, still, biting her fist and her other hand up her shift. 

She seldom indulges such thoughts, but when they come, they're of Morgana's open laughter, her easy nakedness that is only for Gwen. The girl in her imagination barely resembles the hard woman she sees when her eyes drift open. 

Morgana's cheeks are flushed, though. The pinkness runs all the way down the curving tops of her breasts and disappears beneath her dress. Gwen aches to follow that blush. She lies bare before Morgana, legs splayed open, naked hips rolling desperately to meet every thrust Morgana grants her. But Morgana is fully dressed, as though ready for court. Gwen can hardly bear it, that Morgana denies her this one last closeness. 

Nothing of Morgana touches Gwen now but the slide of silk skirts on her calves and thighs, the intensity of her gaze raking across Gwen's exposed body for the first time. It will be the only time, too, the last time, for Gwen's plans for escape with Leon will either succeed or get her killed. It is only now that their connection, once so strong, is ready to finally snap like a fraying thread, that Gwen allows herself this last thing that had lay long untouched between them. 

Gwen gives in and tips her head up, fairly begging for a kiss, for touch. Morgana indulges her. It's soft, shockingly familiar, like her wishes at night. It's a Morgana she thought was gone, or only ever imagined. It makes Gwen cry.

This is a sharp new pang and it surprises her; she'd thought Morgana had already done her worst. 

Morgana shushes, “Don’t,” and laps the salty wet from the corners of Gwen’s eyes. 

Morgana slides two fingers in alongside the hilt, opening her more. She gasps with Gwen, must feel Gwen fluttering, clenching around her. Gwen sobs at the new width, the slight warmth.

“I can give you everything he could,” Morgana says. “More.” And then—sparks, golden, fly from Morgana's fingertips as they graze Gwen's clit and Gwen throws her head back into the pillow as the world washes out. 

It's this feeling that drives lovers to foolish things, for just a moment of it. Her own judgment must be impaired—her body feels easy, unfastened, even with Morgana smiling that dangerous smile above her, like a creature that's brought down its prey. She pulls the sword from Gwen’s body, dripping. Gwen finds it’s indeed too late to guard her wits. Her heart grows too unhappy at the ever-present twist to Morgana’s mouth, which Gwen is so used to seeing curl in mischief or joy or sadness, but never in such cruelty. Her tongue is loosened in spite of herself.

“You never used to smile like this,” she says, daring to run her fingers along that sharp new curve. Morgana's expression flickers and tightens under her touch. She hardens visibly, sitting back and taking a cool look at her own hand. Gwen wonders abstractly if Morgana would backhand her, then sees the narrow trail of red running down Morgana's white fingers. Cut from the blade after all, despite the caution of the bedsheets. Morgana sucks the blood off, fingers sliding from her lips with a slick noise that has Gwen biting her lip. 

“I never used to get what I want,” Morgana finally answers, running her wet fingers fondly down Gwen's side, electrifying her skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ["Three Wishes" by The Pierces](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RyUkQWk29jY).


End file.
